


frazer's villain origin story

by slorpstoes



Category: uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 16:34:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13708353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slorpstoes/pseuds/slorpstoes
Summary: my boy havin some Issues tbh





	1. Chapter 1

“ _I_ WANTED TO BE LINE LEADER!”

In Room 14, Frazer Howell is throwing a fit and a printer at Miss Parker again. 

The whole class watches on in awe/shock/amusement (“What a freak!” Anne Matthews and Sally Baker laugh).

“How did he even pick up that thing?” Oliver Jones whispers to Miss Parker with a shudder.

Miss Parker only sighs.

“Frazer, _please_ put that down.”

Frazer bares his teeth. “Why should I?” he snaps back at her, with an anger no ten-year-old could possibly possess.

“You’re scaring your friends!” Miss Parker says, shielding away Oliver, who’s still shuddering.

“Why should I care?” Frazer picks out a stapler and starts to aim.

“ _Frazer_!” Miss Parker exclaims in utter horror. “Principal’s office!”

He lowers the stapler for a moment. “What? _Again_? Doesn’t she have anything _better_ to be doing?”

“Don’t talk back to me,” Miss Parker replies. “Principal’s office. Now.”

“PriNCiPaL’s oFFicE, nOw.”

“Don’t mock me. Leave.”

Frazer growls in disgust. “Fine.” He steps out the door. “Look! I’m leaving! Are you happy? Are you happy now?”

Miss Parker doesn’t reply. Oliver stops shuddering.

Anne picks up a pair of scissors and starts dangling them around. “Look! I’m Frazer Howell and I’m a _craaazzy_ freak!” she says twirling around a finger near her head: ‘crazy’. “Watch out, I’m going to kill your family!”

“Anne!” Miss Parker says, exasperated. “Sit down! Watch your language!”

“Who cares? He could’ve just _killed_ us!” Anne throws her arms in the air. “What a cuckoo head, am I right?”

The class laughs.

 

Principal Connoly is a short, plump woman with long laugh lines etching canyons into her cheeks. They make her look quite old and wrinkled even though she’s only about forty-something, but it never really seems to bother her. Frazer’s always wondered what it’d be like to have those kinds of laugh lines. Would they hurt his face muscles a lot? Smiling takes about twenty-six muscles, so laughing probably takes even more. He’s decided to start laughing in moderation; he doesn’t want to end up like her when _he’s_ forty.

“Oh. Frazer Howell. Come on in.”

The principal beckons him in and he complies, stapler still clutched tightly in his hand.

“Would you like to tell me why you’re here?” she asks.

He frowns. “I don’t _know_! You tell me!”

“Who sent you?”

“Miss Parker,” he says. “I hate her.”

Principal Connoly raises her small brown eyebrows. “Now, that’s not very nice.”

“ _She’s_ not very nice.”

Principal Connoly sighs. “Okay, then. Take a seat.”

Frazer pulls out a hard plastic chair and drags it along the floor. It makes a horrible sound. 

“Please pick up the chair next time,” Principal Connoly says as he sits down. “Dragging it makes marks on the wood.”

Frazer shrugs. “Whatever.”

Principal Connoly pulls out a binder and props her elbows on either side of it. “Would you like to tell me what has happened?”

“What? Ever since I was born?”

She sighs again. “No. Over the past… let’s say, hour or so.”

Frazer starts to recap. He recaps about the class game of Silent Ball and how unfair it was because he had to sit out even though it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t catch the ball—the desks were just arranged wrong and he couldn’t move in time. He recaps about mental maths and how unfair it was because Anne was copying his answers and Miss Parker didn’t believe him. He recaps about English and how unfair it was because Jake Jasper kept interrupting his reading and wouldn’t ever stop talking. He recaps about recess and how unfair it was because he wanted to be line leader and didn’t get to be line leader even though Miss Parker promised him he would get a turn last week. And then he recaps about how he threw a printer at Miss Parker, and how _fair_ that was because everyone was being _un_ fair already.

Principal Connoly nods along with his story. When he’s done, she asks, “Do you really think it was a good idea to throw the printer?”

“It was a good idea at the time,” he replies. “I just wanted her and Anne and everyone to shut up.”

“Do you still think it was a good idea?”

“Well…” Frazer furrows his eyebrows and crosses his arms. “Maybe.”

“ _Maybe_?”

His cheeks go red and blow up. “Okay! No! No it wasn’t!” He frowns more and more, and his teeth start to chatter. “Are you happy now?”

The principal is a little shocked. “Fra—”

“Stop staring at me like that!”

“Like what?”

“Like…” He clutches the stapler tighter. “Like you know more than me— Like you’re superior to me! Like I’m a five-year-old! Like I’m some dead animal on the streets!”

Principal Connoly sighs loudly. “How would you prefer I stare at you, then?”

Frazer sends her a sharp glare. The stapler starts to creak under pressure. “I… Just not that way!”

Principal Connoly arches an eyebrow.

He huffs his irritation. “Just don’t look at me,” he spits. “At all.”

Not knowing what to do, Principal Connoly ends up staring at her moose head and sighing once again. “Frazer,” she starts, “I really don’t know what to do with you.”

Frazer looks taken aback, but at the same time has a look like he’s heard this all before. “What does _that_ mean?”

The principal continues staring at the moose head. She purses her lips, then stretches a flat smile. “Frazer, how would you feel if I contacted your parents?”

He narrows his eyes and slowly places the stapler onto Principal Connoly’s desk so that he can now clench both of his fists, because it makes him feel cool. “So that’s what you want to do?” he asks quietly. “That’s what you want to do with me?”

“Well, I’m afraid it might be the only option I have…”

Frazer breathes out through his nose and he just looks and feels disappointed. “Fine,” he says, standing up from his seat and heading for the door. “Go ahead. See if I care.”

Then he’s gone.


	2. Chapter 2

A few mornings later, Principal Connoly’s recess break starts with a familiar, weary face at the door. 

“Oh,” she says, in the same smooth, calculated tone of hers. “Miss Parker. Come on in.”

Miss Parker breathes a familiar, weary sigh. “Yes, hello there. I suppose I should pull up a chair?”

“Go ahead.”

And she does so, making sure not to drag it across the wooden floor, and tucks it in neatly under Principal Connoly’s desk. “Still renovating the floor, I suppose?” asks Miss Parker as she sits down.

“No, no, we’re over with that.” Principal Connoly smiles. “Now it’s more of a matter of… maintaining it.”

Miss Parker gives a polite chuckle. “I see.”

Principal Connoly stirs at her coffee. “Is there a specific reason you wanted to see me? Or are you just here for a chat?” When she smiles for the second time, her cheeks scrunch up like old sandpaper. “Which would be completely fine with me. It’s not always that I get a visitor, you know!” 

Principal Connoly’s voice always sounds kind and nice and she would probably make a good therapist, because she’s just got that air about her that makes all your worries feel… obsolete. Principal Connoly and Principal Connoly’s voice, together, can make you feel very safe. Like you can tell her anything and she’ll just give you some good advice and also possibly a cookie. It’s a bit of a dangerous talent, she’ll admit. 

Instead of being a therapist, she’s a principal and occasional nanny-for-hire. 

Miss Parker tangles her fingers. “Unfortunately, I do have a specific reason,” she says. “I’m sorry if you just wanted to chat.”

Principal Connoly’s smile wilts a little. If she’s honest, talking to Miss Parker can always be quite the chore because she’s far too kind. Pleasantries with Miss Parker can last seven years. Awkward air lasts even longer.

“No, don’t worry about it,” Principal Connoly assures. “I could have a chat with anyone I liked if I wanted to. Not to worry.”

Awkward air doesn’t dissipate. No one expected it to, so no one’s surprised. 

Well, Miss Parker sure isn’t surprised, she’s just extremely uncomfortable. She makes an uncomfortable and awkward shift in her chair.

“I suppose I’ll just start, then?”

“Go ahead.”

Miss Parker sighs. “I’m here to talk about Frazer.”

Principal Connoly nods. Now, _this_ is something she expected. She watches Miss Parker list off everything that’s happened surrounding Frazer Howell, that strange child, only half listening because, let’s be honest, she already knows all of this. It’s just somewhat fun to hear from Miss Parker’s anxious point of view.

Miss Parker jolts Principal Connoly into full attention with a sudden break of pattern: “Umm, do you mind if I complain for a second? I won’t if you don’t want me to, of course.”

“No, go ahead.”

Miss Parker takes a deep breath. “Well,” she starts, then pauses. “No… I don’t know if it’s really right for me to be saying this about him.”

Principal Connoly arches an eyebrow. “Well, we never know until we try, right?” she says. “Just try it. Don’t worry. I’ll stop you if you go too far.”

“Okay,” Miss Parker says. Another deep breath. “Here we go.” She starts to talk about how much of a hassle Frazer is to teach, which, to be completely honest, Principal Connoly also expected. Frazer is sent to her office almost every second day, and it’s usually because he’s done something wrong in Miss Parker’s class… like, he’s thrown something, he’s threatened someone, he’s thrown something, he’s hurt someone, or he’s thrown something. But most often it’s because he’s thrown something.

But something Principal Connoly never expected was how much stress he’s put on Miss Parker, whether voluntary or not. Whenever she passed by for a checkup, Miss Parker would always shoot her a small smile and small thumbs-up, and she always promised she was coping well. 

But. Every human has their breaking point. Maybe she’s just seeing it for the first time.

Principal Connoly places down her coffee cup decidedly. She believes anything can be done decidedly if there’s enough energy and authority put into it.

“It sure sounds like you’re having a tough time, Janet,” she says. 

The use of her first name is enough to catch Miss Parker’s attention. She snaps her head up. 

“Oh. Yes…” she murmurs, “I suppose.”

“Is that all you wanted to say?”

“Oh…” Miss Parker’s hands move from her chest to the rusty metal filings rung under Principal Connoly’s desk. She attempts to start another sentence, but kills it off before it can go anywhere.

A small, patient smile rests on Principal Connoly’s lips. “Would you like to be a problem causer or a problem solver?” she prompts.

“Oh, well that’s obvious,” Miss Parker replies absentmindedly. “I must be a problem solver.”

“Would you like to solve your problem, then?”

“Yes, of course.”

Principal Connoly picks up her coffee cup again, because despite putting it down so coolly, she’s forgotten that there’s still some left and her tongue still longs for its bitter tinge. 

“Well?” She takes a sip. “Do you have a solution?”

“Oh…” Miss Parker’s hands emerge from under the table. “That’s actually… well… the real reason I came here. To discuss. That’s… It’s what I wanted to discuss… here… today.”

Principal Connoly clicks her fingers. “Good. Well done.” Another sip. “Let’s have me hear it, then.”

Miss Parker has a moment of silence to gather her thoughts, then stares the principal head on. 

“I would like to discuss the possibility of moving Frazer to a different class.”

“Oh?”

Principal Connoly definitely had that one on her list of _The Expected_. It’s not the most original solution, sure. She’s just glad Miss Parker had a solution in the first place.

“Yes, I know it’s not the most responsible course of action, but…” Miss Parker looks down at her hand, and Principal Connoly stifles a laugh at the sight of meeting notes scrawled all over in black ballpoint. “… perhaps other teachers, who are, uh, more aggressive than I could be, would be a better choice for him. Those who wouldn’t have trouble dealing with his outbursts. And maybe they could… perhaps help him, too, if they have the time. If they want to.”

Principal Connoly gives a strong nod. “I think that’s a splendid idea, Janet. Do you have anyone in mind?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” she says. “I think that David… oh, I mean, Mr. Greene, wouldn’t do too bad a job. I also think Ms Daisy has just the right amount of kindness and assertion.”

Another firm nod from the principal. 

“I will take your suggestions into consideration.” She equips the same warm smile. “Thank you.”

“Oh!” Miss Parker claps her hands. “That’s wonderful news. Thank _you_.”

It makes Principal Connoly feel a bit better to see her looking so relieved, elated. 

“Oh, look at the time!” Miss Parker claps her hands again, but for a different reason. A more urged reason. “I believe I’ve overstayed my welcome. Thank you for having me.”

Principal Connoly waves a hand. “That’s alright. You may take your leave if you please.”

Miss Parker practically squirms out of her chair and quickly walks it over to the stack, again making sure not to drag it across the wooden floor. Then she ducks out the door with another, “Thank you!”

And then it’s done. The meeting went by faster than the principal had expected, to her pleasant surprise. It was almost a shame to watch Miss Parker go. 

Principal Connoly sinks into her chair, and drains the last sip from her cup.

She’s going to have a lot of thinking to do.


	3. Chapter 3

Friday comes, and Principal Connoly is tidying up her, admittedly, somewhat messy desk in preparation for another… meeting. It’s a bit weird; her most important meetings always seem to land on Fridays. The last day of the week! Y’know, the day she’s supposed to just kick back and relax?

So, while children excitedly chatter from beyond the window, she’s stuck in her crummy little office, cleaning up crummy little cookie crumbs, complaining to herself about the increasing prices of eggs. It’s so hard just to bake a simple cake nowadays, because the stupid prices can break a horse’s back—not to mention, scouring out an organic banana is a bit like trying to find a cow in a bookstore.

Principal Connoly is broken out of her thoughts by an even rapping against her door. She looks up.

Her special visitor is here.

“Ah,” she says, and her voice isn’t as smooth or calm as usual because, heck, she’s never met this woman before, and anyone with an _ounce_ of sense would feel nervous. Even someone as coolheaded as her. “Mrs. Howell. Come on in.”

The woman in question makes a curious sweep of the office with her piercing brown eyes, then only takes a step inside once she’s tapped her foot a few times against the wooden floor, like she’s testing for demons or something. Principal Connoly sports a patient smile.

She first looks the tiniest bit bewildered, and Principal Connoly’s about to prompt her to pull up a chair like she always does, when she sees that Mrs. Howell’s already lifted one from the stack. Principal Connoly nods to herself in satisfaction. Sure, it’s a simple action, but you’d be surprised at how much dead air lingers around in this office just because people forget about the modern convenience of chairs. So, seeing a guest be so proactive is a welcomed change.

While Mrs. Howell makes her way over to the main desk, Principal Connoly makes a mental note of how horribly unnerving this woman is. She’s, like, a walking, living reincarnation of those business women you see in all those _Time_ magazines. Except that her legs aren’t photoshopped, they’re genuine, real, and you probably wouldn’t be able to make room for a smile anywhere on that face even if you hired Thrifty.

Also, _oh_ , her hair… is immaculate. Principal Connoly hasn’t been able to find a single stray strand in the whole of these, what, three minutes she’s spent examining her? It doesn’t seem possible. Mrs. Howell doesn’t seem possible as, y’know, a human being. What a woman.

Even her walk is professional. It’s light, but purposeful, and chimes… well, a few bells of fear in Principal Connoly’s old heart. She hasn’t yet heard Mrs. Howell speak, but she imagines it’d be something like every boring business meeting crammed into one voice box.

Mrs. Howell sits herself down, and places her hands into her lap. Principal Connoly’s never quite watched her own posture – anywhere, really – but seeing such a model before her makes her feel a little more conscious about simply slamming her elbows down on the main desk like she usually does. So, she pulls a mirror act and throws her hands into her lap as well.

She watches as Mrs. Howell wordlessly blinks a few times, and momentarily wonders if this woman, out of all people, is feeling awkward. But then she starts to speak before the principal can even consider breaking the ice.

“Greetings.” Yep, her voice is exactly what Principal Connoly expected. “I am Frazer’s mother. You requested a meeting the other day.”

She doesn’t really know why Mrs. Howell is feeding her details when _she’s_ the one who invited her here in the first place, but, sure, okay. If that’s how she wants to roll.

“Yes, that’s quite correct.” Principal Connoly goes out of her way to sound more posh and British, because everyone knows that that posh British people always sound smart, no matter what they’re saying.

Mrs. Howell nods. “You didn’t exactly disclose any information in your invitation, so I’m not sure what to expect, but I will try my best to make this a pleasant experience for the both of us.”

The principal has to take a good second to fully digest that… sentence. Gosh, she’s making it look like a business proposal. So, maybe that’s what she thinks this is.

Or… maybe she just wants Principal Connoly to think that she thinks that.

… There’s a lot more variables to a parent-teacher meeting than she’d thought.

She realises she hasn’t given a response, and sporadically throws her left arm up in alarm.

“Oh, yes…” She drags out the ‘yes’ as long as she can while she thinks. “But don’t put any unnecessary pressure on yourself, or anything like that. This is just a casual, friendly meeting.”

Okay, now, that didn’t sound as sophisticated or posh as she’d wanted it to (heck, she started a sentence with a goddamn conjunction), but it seems to float well enough. Mrs. Howell at least doesn’t question it.

She takes a sharp inhale. “Shall do.”

Principal Connoly also takes a good swig of air, and even if she looks like the cool, calm principal of Broadbridge on the outside, she’s running laps in her mind trying to figure out where on Earth to lead the conversation.

Mrs. Howell raises a long, elegant eyebrow. “Would you mind getting on with it, then?” she says, with the first hint of irritation Principal Connoly reckons she’s going to get a lot of.

She nods hastily. “Oh, yes, of course,” Principal Connoly says, her hands reaching up to absentmindedly tap against the desk. _Bam-bam-bam. Bam-bam-bam. Bam-bam—_

“Right.” The tapping really helps organise her thoughts, Principal Connoly muses with amazement. “Your child, Frazer Howell?” She doesn’t know why she’s asking Mrs. _Howell_ for confirmation that Frazer _Howell_ is indeed her child, but it sounded much better in her head.

“Yes.” Mrs. Howell replies without much fuss, anyway. “What sort of stunt has that boy pulled this time?”

Somehow, it makes Principal Connoly feel a bit… disheartened by those words. It’s honestly quite sad that his own mother has so little trust in him that she immediately assumes he’s done something wrong.

And, well, he has, which makes Principal Connoly feel even worse. Maybe it’s mother’s intuition. Or, again, the trust issue. She wants to believe it’s the former. (Though she shouldn’t be making assumptions about people’s families at all, really.)

“Oh, nothing really in particular,” Principal Connoly says airily, and she can’t help the automatic, dismissive wave her hand gives. “I would like to discuss more his behaviour as a whole.”

Mrs. Howell looks like the kind of woman whose frowns would rest natural and unassuming on her face, but the real deal’s actually a whole different story. It’s daunting, to say the least.

“Oh, I apologise dearly for my son’s behaviour, and I hope you can forgive him,” she says eventually, pulling her hands up from her lap for the first time to massage her temples. “I’ve spoken to him multiple, _multiple_ times about this… Good heavens.”

Looks like Mrs. Parker isn’t the only one affected by Frazer’s… _influence_ , to say the least. Looks like his mother isn’t spared, either. Principal Connoly furrows her eyebrows.

“Well, it’s not too big of a deal,” she half-lies. (It is a bit of a debacle, sure, but… it’s only a half-lie because, boy, Principal Connoly has sure done some thinking.) “And besides, I’ve called you here so we can resolve this… issue.”

When Mrs. Howell’s hands return to their origin, she almost looks immaculate again, like none of the stress or the apologies even happened. “That’s good,” she gushes.

Principal Connoly wrings her hands. “It is, isn’t it?” she says. She takes a deep breath before continuing: “Let me say, I’ve been observing your child for a while, and after a while of pondering around, I’ve settled on this thought.”

Mrs. Howell looks mildly interested. Principal Connoly takes it as a sign to keep going.

“Now, it’s just a suggestion, nothing more. Don’t stress yourself about it. But do think about it.” She decides to get all the, uh, pleasantries out of the way, because, in all her experience, these kinds of talks haven’t always rolled over quite well. Mrs. Howell cocks an eyebrow, but doesn’t say a word. Principal Connoly does, however.

“Would you like to perhaps consider assisting your child, Frazer, with… Ah…” Oh, jeez. How should she say this… “How should I say this…” This is the make it or break it. The happy deal or the sternly worded email. She’ll need to pick her battles wisely—

“… Counselling?”

Oh, jeez. Ah. Well. Y’know. At least she hadn’t said “mental facility”. Not making that mistake again.

Mrs. Howell seems to take it very, very lightly. The raven practically snorts, a sound Principal Connoly probably would’ve never, ever, in her wildest dreams, expected from someone as poise as her.

“Counselling?” she seethes. “I don’t believe in counselling.”

“Oh.”

Principal Connoly isn’t quite sure how someone can “not believe in therapy”.

“No one in my family needs counselling.” Mrs. Howell has this new, urgent tone about her voice. Like the principal’s hit a vein, and she needs to get out in a blast. Principal Connoly’s also used to this, of course.

“Are you sure?” the principal asks in that same, patient tone of voice she’s always had. “I think it would be beneficial to his etiquette… and his mental health.” She pauses for a second. “Oh, you do know that I worry about your son a lot, don’t you?” And she finishes the sentence with a light chuckle.

Mrs. Howell doesn’t look like she really wants a laugh right now. A shame.

“I believe his mental health is more his issue than yours,” the woman insists, pointedly. “You need not let it concern you.”

Principal Connoly lets out an involuntary _pffft_.

“Well,” she says, “as the principal, it’s… well, yes, _entirely_ my job to be concerned about my students.”

Mrs. Howell instantly fires off a response. “Are you suggesting that there’s something wrong with my child? So much that he needs _counselling_?”

Well. Principal Connoly sure sees where Frazer gets his temper from. Both mother _and_ son have a knack of getting so, _so_ inappropriately defensive. They’re like dogs without horses.

The principal levels out her breathing again. That usually works with Frazer, so maybe it’ll have the same effect on The Mother. Apparently, it’s a leftover survival instinct — Frazer’s receptors see things like panic and interrogation as signs of hostility.

“No, of course not,” she sooths. “I’m simply worried about his wellbeing.”

Mrs. Howell also makes an attempt to calm her breaths. “You must be misunderstanding something. There’s been a mistake.” She quickly jolts up from her chair. “I must tend to this immediately.”

“No.” Principal Connoly raps her knuckles three times against the desk. “Wait.”

Mrs. Howell turns around, and, there we go, there’s that irritation again. She takes a hurried, exasperated inhale. “What do you need?”

“Please just consider it,” the principal pleads. “I’m certain you’ll find it a worthy investment for both you and Frazer.”

Mrs. Howell gives a curt nod, but it contains no promise whatsoever. “If I’d known this was the issue, I would have never taken the night off in the first place,” she says, and every syllable she makes sounds like a sigh in itself. Then she just sighs. “I’ll have a special talk with Frazer tonight, and make sure this never happens again.” Her words don’t contain much promise, either.

Principal Connoly slaps on a weary smile. She’ll just have to take it, and hope for the best.  “That’s good to hear,” she concedes.

Mrs. Howell nods again, and rests her arm on the door handle. “If he causes you any trouble again, please do not hesitate to contact me.” With that, she steps out into the hallway. Even her footsteps are angry.

“That will be all.”

Then she’s gone.


	4. Chapter 4

On a Monday morning, the class is quiet. There’s a soft hint of a breeze knocking at their window. There’s also Frazer Howell knocking at their door.

It’s 9:04, he’s late, so Anne stands up and starts hollering.

“Look who’s finally here! What took you?” Anne puts on a low voice, “Oh, no, guys, I bet he’s brought something else to throw at us. Freak.”

Sally eats it up— _“Bwer-her-her!”_ —craning her neck to suck it all in.

Oliver shivers. Frazer fiddles with the zippers on his bag, but doesn’t say a word. There’s a horrible looking bruise on his face, right under his left eye. 

Miss Parker signals for Anne and Sally to pipe down, then smiles a disappointed/relieved adult smile. “There you are, Frazer. Have you signed in?”

Frazer’s eyes dart around the room. His mouth twitches ever-so-slightly, the way it does when he’s got something to say. 

He doesn’t say anything. 

“Well, have you?”

The only noise Frazer makes is a low hum. He nods.

Miss Parker’s smile turns more disappointed. “Okay. I’ll take it that you have,” she says. “Come sit down, then.” Miss Parker points at the door. “Oh, but don’t forget to leave your bag outside.”

Frazer bites the inside of his cheek. He turns, then leaves the classroom. His footsteps are quieter than usual.

“What’s up with him? Don’t you think he’s kinda… uh, you know?” Anne whispers to Sally, her deskmate. Anne rubs her eye. “… Whack?”

Sally replies with a “What? You worried?”

Anne doesn’t give an answer. Sally snickers, but drops the question.

Then Frazer reenters the room, and Monday kickstarts the way it always does. With a spelling pretest.

 

Anne might not be worried about Frazer, but Oliver is. 

“Champion,” Miss Parker reads, “‘I was the champion of last year’s sports carnival’.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Frazer can see Oliver inch closer.

“Anyone still going? No? Okay, then. Your next word is freedom.”

And closer.

“Echo.”

And closer.

“Recognise.”

Oliver’s chair makes one finishing scrape against the ground, and Frazer finds him a little too close for comfort. He does the same low hum again, but doesn’t say anything. Frazer eyes Oliver eyeing him. But Oliver hasn’t said anything, either, and Miss Parker has listed off another three spelling words (“pretend”, “approach”, “oatmeal”), and Frazer hasn’t been able to write any of them down because Oliver Jones, despite his skinny legs and small nose and beady eyes, has been really unnerving. 

Frazer lets out a long breath. He feels weird. Not weird as in freaky weird (which usually is his kind of weird), but weird as in… angry? But he always feels a bit angry. He’s a little bit sad today, too, he’d say. 

Frazer doesn’t like feeling sad. Sad isn’t an emotion he’d really like to attach to his image. Being sad makes you pathetic. Being sad makes you weak. Frazer Howell isn’t weak.

That’s what he believes.

Being sad makes him feel angry, and being angry gets him sent to Principal Connoly, and being sent to Principal Connoly doesn’t usually end well at home. So maybe it’s better to keep his mouth shut, and still be angry—just only on the inside. He’s tried this a few times before, but Anne and Sally and possibly Oliver Jones, who’s still staring at him, make being angry on the inside very hard.

Oliver Jones is nudging him. It’s light nudging, but, over the years, Frazer’s discovered that nudges from people with skinny arms always hurt the most, probably because their elbows are skinny enough to really get in, under all his barriers, and then their skinny bones start to prick at his armpits. Like a note tucked under a door. Oliver’s nudge is most definitely pricking at his armpits.

Frazer reaches in under his arm and removes Oliver’s skinny elbow. He hears Oliver take a nasally breath from his nasally throat. 

“Oh,” he says. Oliver always sounds like he has a cold. “Sorry.” He also has a tendency to say sorry but never say what he’s sorry for. Frazer doesn’t ask, anyway; if Oliver has any common sense at all, he’s probably sorry for pricking at Frazer’s armpits with his skinny elbow bones.

Oliver’s throat makes another nasally sound. To be honest, Frazer has always found Oliver to be a bit weird, which is a bit funny coming from Frazer, who is considered by many to be a freak. But it’s not like even freaks can’t think other people are weird, too.

For one, Oliver is a huge wimp. Oliver once evacuated the whole class because there was a wet stain on his chair, which he thought was because someone broke into the school and spilled some kind of toxic poison. Then Miss Parker assured him that it was just a water bottle leakage, most likely from Oliver’s own bottle, which then threw Oliver into another frenzy because he was worried his bottle leaked during the entire walk to school and had left a trail a serial killer could follow to find him. His worries are absolutely weird, but Oliver always believes in all of them with his whole heart. 

Also, Oliver has a weird body and, most specifically, a weird throat. He talks in a tiny whisper, but whenever he stubs his toe he starts to scream “Oh my goodness! Oh my _goodness_!” over and over again like a really angered goose. And he’s got weird feet. Frazer’s never really grasped how one foot could be so much bigger than the other, like how Oliver’s right foot is compared to his left. He’s asked once, but Oliver said it was something to do with malnutrition and metabolism, which Frazer didn’t know or care about.

In his opinion, he doesn’t really see why he’s a freak and Oliver isn’t. All Frazer does is sit and write and occasionally throw things. 

He only hears Oliver’s tiny “hey” the third time he says it. He gives a mildly interested hum.

“What happened to your face?” asks Oliver.

Frazer smiles. He knows the answer to this one.

“Nothing happened to my face,” says Frazer. Those are the only words he’s said all day. Those are the only words he plans to say all day.

The bruise sitting below his left eye is a good reminder to keep his mouth shut.

 

Frazer’s face doesn’t stay unnoticed to Miss Parker, either. After the spelling pretest and after mental maths and just before recess break, she ushers him over. Frazer expects her to ask what happened to his face, like Oliver Jones did, and he would be fine with that because then he would answer the same and still be sticking to his plan, but her words throw him for a bit of a loop.

“Are you alright, Frazer?” asks Miss Parker.

Frazer narrows his eyes. This isn’t part of the plan. Then again, it is a yes or no question, so he could very well just nod his head, but he’s dealt with adults for a long ten years and he’s old enough to know they’ll be too nosy to just… stay out of it. They’ll start asking him more and more questions, they’ll start wanting him to elaborate, and then they’ll start trying to help him. It makes him really, really mad. No one’s ever considered that maybe he doesn’t want help. Maybe he doesn’t _need_ help. From anyone. Why does everyone insistent on meddling with things they have nothing to do with? Does it make them feel better about themselves? He’s better off without anyone getting in the way. 

It makes him really, really, really mad.

He nods anyway, because the only other options are to open his mouth and betray himself, which is something he hasn’t done in a while and doesn’t plan on doing anytime soon.

Miss Parker furrows her eyebrows and hums in the mostly disappointed adult way. Eventually, she weakly gestures at his face, and he can see the question hurtling towards him from miles away.

“Is that a bruise?”

Nod.

“Does it hurt?”

Shake.

“… Are you sure?”

Frazer sighs. If he’s completely honest, he knew all of this would happen. He knew that once he stepped into that classroom he would have to talk and talk and talk and then he’d get mad and blow up and get sent to Principal Connoly and then it’d start all over again. With a new bruise under a new eye on a new day. Sometimes he doesn’t know why he even goes to school in the first place. His mum doesn’t keep watch after she drops him off, so he could probably just wander off to the city or something. He doesn’t have to keep coming to this rotten place. 

But then people like Oliver Jones and Miss Parker would get worried, and worrying people makes him mad. Which is why everyone should just stay out of his business so that he won’t have to worry them and he won’t have to waste his energy getting mad and maybe he can spend it on other things… like hobbies. Frazer really wants to find a hobby, but he’s usually too tired for that.

He realises he hasn’t given Miss Parker an answer when she puts her hand on his shoulder. He shakes her off, but she looks him straight in the eyes. 

“Just so you know, I’m worried about you, okay?” she says. “I want you to be the happiest you can be. Okay?”

Worried. Happy. Putting those two words together makes him so mad.

He frowns. 

Small injuries like these aren’t even a problem at all. Something like pain is nothing to worry about.

“Whatever,” he says, softly. Whatever isn’t really a word you’re supposed to say softly, but Frazer’s too tired to make it any stronger or any angrier, so he leaves it at that.

Then he walks off to recess, and he doesn’t know or care if Miss Parker says anything else to him. 


End file.
